


on sight

by tagteamme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: As I regale you with a tale, Closet Sex, Established Relationship, Everyone gather 'round yon fire, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, about how people think Keith's tarty, but it's Shirogane chasing tail, everyone suffers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: It's extremely common that people think Keith's the more forward one in their relationship. Shiro does nothing to dispel this.“They think I'm the one that's trying to always sneak you away, you know,” Keith says in a matter-of-fact manner, just as the lock gives. Shiro pushes open the door with one arm as he deeply bows and gestures for Keith to enter first with the other. “You're the worst.”“I'm sure,” Shiro says with no amount of repentance as he closes the door behind them. Keith's got more to say, but large hands find his hips in the dark and tug back gently, and he thinks the conversation can be shelved for later.





	on sight

 It's considered common knowledge that out of their relationship, Keith's the one that's more forward. He's perceived as the one more likely to try and sneak a red-eared Shiro into an empty classroom without realizing there's a keen-eyed cadet passing by at the other end of the hall, supposedly. He's the one leaving hickies right where the collar line of Shiro's uniform stops, supposedly. He's the one who sometimes drifts away with Shiro's arm. Supposedly.

Keith thinks that there's any common knowledge about their relationship at all, aside from them being together, is mildly disconcerting. He also thinks that said common knowledge is fundamentally wrong because out of the two of them, Shiro's the one that's got a hard time keeping his hands off Keith.

Keith likes it— he can't find much to complain about the idea that the love of his life, this one and the ones that'll come after, likes to touch and kiss and give and take whenever he can. Keith likes the attention, likes when Shiro looks at him with enough hunger to make his toes curl and the hair on his arms stand up. It's nice.

What he's not too much of a fan of is how he’s got a reputation that’s both existing and undeserved. Keith loves Shiro and loves to touch Shiro, kiss Shiro, feel Shiro in as many ways as he possibly can. But he's more reticent out of the two, contrary to the fact that he looks more like a wild thing compared to Shiro's strong, stoic but friendly animal-tamer.

No one thinks that Shiro's the one that likes to sneak them into small enclosed spaces in between meetings and trainings and drills. No one thinks that Shiro makes his arm follow Keith around a corner and slides it down his pants, working him into a whimpering mess while he stands twenty feet away, chit chatting with an officer. No one thinks that it's specifically Shiro that mourns the fact that they hadn't been able to take full advantage of the giant castleship being filled with intricate mazes and halls and minimal crew.

And if anyone is to walk in on them now, with Keith propped up on the desk of Shiro's unlocked office, face down and moaning, papers scattered around him as Shiro takes him hard and fast, they'll probably not think that it was Shiro that initiated it.

“Babe,” Shiro's voice is hoarse and gruff from above. Keith curls his fingers against the cold metal. He can't really form words due to the two large robotic fingers that work his mouth with as much enthusiasm as their owner works Keith, but he appreciates the attempt at conversation.

Keith shifts, tries to rock his hips and reciprocate, but he’s already had the soul sucked out of him and can’t really move. He's had a lot of things done to him over the course of the past twenty minutes because Shiro's a gentleman like that and likes to touch and taste any part of Keith he can get his hands on. The desk shifts threateningly underneath them and Keith has to blink back tears.

Shiro curls over him and bites his earlobe before kissing his neck. There's too much blood rushing through Keith's ears but he thinks he hears Shiro say something about a repeat performance later that night that makes his legs twitch with want. For all his assertion that sneaking out in the middle of supervising training simulations is not the most responsible thing to do, Keith also can't deny that it's definitely the most fun.

All he can do now is enjoy the ride and hope that no one notices that he’s been markedly absent from his afternoon duties today. Shiro moves his human hand to wrap around Keith, and Keith quickly forgets what those duties were.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is everything okay?” Keith blurts out as Shiro tucks him back into his pants. He’s already wiped off the mess Keith made on the desk and has buttoned his own uniform jacket with scary efficiency.

“What?” Shiro blinks, pausing at the button of Keith’s pants.

“You’re a little handsy,” Keith says, severely underplaying the intensity of their act.

“I’m always handsy,” Shiro grins in a way that makes Keith momentarily forget where he was going with this. He leans forward to kiss the tip of Shiro’s nose as Shiro takes care of him, petting down his hair and making sure that Keith’s own jacket isn’t lopsided. There’s a sharp _beep_ that comes from the tablet sitting on the forgotten rolling chair of Shiro’s office, and it grounds Keith.

“This is the third time you’ve pulled me out of my day this week,” Keith points out. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Is it?” Shiro raises an eyebrow, before stepping back and assessing whether or not Keith’s fit to go back outside. Or so he says. Keith’s pretty sure Shiro’s fine sending Keith out into the world with the evidence of what they did written all over him. “Must be one of those weeks.”

The tablet beeps again. Keith’s not quite sure how he’s going to walk out of this office properly. He voices as much and Shiro laughs, offering to carry him out.

“Wait,” Keith says as Shiro’s about to make good on his promise. “What do you mean one of those weeks?”

 

* * *

 

As it goes, that phrase can mean a lot of things.

It can mean Shiro easily lets Keith flip him on the mat during a private training session, just so that he can grind up against him till they've made a mess.

It can mean Shiro going up to give a report on the latest effort with the Balmerans to create a new hybrid version of their crystal from raw Earth material, and no one realizing his arm has been left behind under the table to massage circles into Keith's inner thigh.

It can mean Keith and Shiro are stumbling in late for a morning briefing and Keith's the one the admiral directs a tart reprimand to while Shiro does nothing to hide the way he has to limp to his seat. Keith’s pretty sure Shiro does everything in his power to exaggerate it, just to mess with him.

At the end of the week they enjoy a rare day off holed up in their quarters, and Keith thinks their calisthenics will be enough to get Shiro to relax a little. But “one of those weeks” blends into the next one, and Keith finds himself on the tail end of an extremely unimpressed look from Allura on the tarmac.

“We were supposed to be in the air five minutes ago,” she says curtly, and Keith puts his helmet on in lieu of a reply.

“Was busy,” he grunts, fist bumping Hunk as he passes by from behind them. “I was needed on the Atlas.”

“I'm sure you were,” Allura’s stern tone slips only fractionally, but Keith catches it anyways.

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, and he hates that his voice is hoarse and cracks a little. “Hey, don't walk faster!”

“It's okay,” she calls out as she makes a sudden right towards her lion. “I'm sure Shiro enjoyed the distraction.”

“What—” Keith's scared for a moment that somehow, the fact that he was on his knees ten minutes ago in the empty cockpit of the Atlas was somehow broadcast to the grounds as a whole. Then he sees Allura’s face and remembers that his friends assume that he's just like That. Wrongly so.

Partially.

He doesn't initiate it, at any rate.

“I don't owe you an answer,” Keith says after her, and Allura’s laugh rings in his ears long after.

 

* * *

 

Keith tries nipping it in the bud one morning when he wakes up, feeling particularly eager. Shiro’s already in the washroom brushing his teeth, given his propensity to wake up five minutes before any alarm. Through the haze of sleep that’s not quite left him, Keith gets a half-baked idea that if he gets Shiro in the morning, maybe Shiro will be able to keep his hands to himself for the rest of the day. So he slides out of bed and trots over to the washroom, shutting the door behind him while Shiro rinses his mouth and looks up at Keith.

Keith moves fast and pins Shiro against the counter before Shiro can ask him what’s happening or move and make way for Keith at the sink.

“G’morning,” Keith says, voice raspy from sleep as he leans in and bites Shiro’s shoulder before running a soothing tongue over it. Shiro gives him an amused look in the mirror before tilting his head so that Keith can kiss him and tug on both their boxers. Keith turns Shiro around and licks his palm before taking him in hand, and watches the amused look melt away from Shiro’s face.

Keith’s not going to lie— feeling Shiro hot and heavy first thing in the morning always leaves him craving more. But regardless of how much Keith wants to climb Shiro like he’s a frantic squirrel and his husband’s a sturdy, _sturdy_ tree, he thinks that this should at least be satiating enough till the evening.

Retrospectively, it maybe isn’t the brightest idea he’s had. He realizes this as he sits in the mess hall, munching on Garrison-issued mashed potatoes and watching Shiro enter through the double doors. Shiro scans the room and finds Keith and the rest of the paladins at a table, He shoots them a wave and a smile that’s as sunny as the weather outside.

“Hey Shiro,” Hunk calls out with a short salute, and the rest of the table joins in the greeting. Shiro returns it before turning to Keith.

“You have a free moment?” Shiro asks Keith genially, waving a manila folder. “I need your help with something.”

Keith squints at Shiro, and then at the rest of his table mates. Pidge goes back to yawning as she continues to scroll through her tablet, and Lance steals a sausage off of Hunk’s tray.

“Sure,” Keith tries his best not to sound too suspicious as he pushes away from the table. He nods when Shiro offers to walk and talk, and a quick glance around the table tells him that none of his team suspects anything. Keith doubts anyone but him can tell that Shiro’s moving with more intent and purpose than normal.

To his credit, Shiro does actually have something he needs Keith's help with. It's something to do with the logistics of training a group of civilians in an emergency procedure, and which officers to rope in to help with it. It's a quick task, a ten minute task that Keith easily helps Shiro out with.

Coincidentally, ten minutes is also the amount of time it takes to walk from the cafeteria to an old forgotten utility room beside one of the smaller Garrison combat training rooms. Keith can't say he's quite surprised when he looks up from a sheet of schedules and runs into a solid back that's stopped. He sees Shiro looking both sides down the hallway before sliding a bobby pin out from his sleeve and picking the lock.

The lock rattles, and Keith gives Shiro a flat look while Shiro looks back at him over his shoulder wiggles his eyebrows.

“They think I'm the one that's trying to always sneak you away, you know,” Keith says in a matter-of-fact manner, just as the lock gives. Shiro pushes open the door with one arm as he deeply bows and gestures for Keith to enter first with the other. “You're the worst.”

“I'm sure,” Shiro says with no amount of repentance as he closes the door behind them. Keith's got more to say, but large hands find his hips in the dark and tug back gently, and he thinks the conversation can be shelved for later.

Keith returns near the end of his lunch hour with his hair a mess and his lips bitten and red. He fixes the first problem by tying his hair back, but there’s no way to hide the second. Shiro’s even more unashamed, and Keith has to stop him in an empty hall so that they can dust off their clothes. Shiro takes it as an opportunity to sweep Keith up into a kiss, and Keith turns red as all he tastes is himself in Shiro’s mouth. It makes him forget to fix Shiro’s collar so that he can hide a miniscule bruise he sucked on his neck in a moment of weakness.

Of course, when Shiro drops Keith off with a prim and proper kiss on the cheek, the most they ever really display in public, said miniscule bruise is just about the only thing that his friends notice.

“Dude,” Lance makes a face at Keith, and Keith pointedly stares down at his now-cold plate, mentally preparing himself to get _thoroughly_ clowned.

 

* * *

 

Keith knows he has to address it somehow.

Not the part where Shiro acts like Keith's an addictive delicious meal— Keith likes the attention, secretly likes the thrill of making out in an empty hallway with a thick thigh wedged between his legs, goading him on. He likes being desired like this by the man he loves.

Keith just doesn't want to get chewed out for something that's technically been Shiro's fault. Repeatedly.

Since being deposited back at the mess hall, the other paladins have not let him breathe for more than thirty consecutive seconds without poking some sort of fun at him and his inability to keep his hands off Shiro and adjacent inability to be subtle about it. They've continued it well past dinner, when they're all draped around the common lounge. It makes Keith's ears go red and his voice slightly crack as he protests.

“It's him,” Keith blurts out once Hunk and Pidge have finished reenacting Keith ripping open his shirt in the middle of a meeting to seduce Shiro. It's maybe the most embarrassing thing he's had to see, and he really misses the days he was seen as a cold emotionless loner and Shiro was their stoic, heralded leader. Those were simpler days.

“Him?” Hunk’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead at an alarming rate.

“Me?” Shiro says innocently from where he's sitting on an armchair, tablet in hand. Keith wonders briefly if Shiro working pretty much any waking hour of the day factors in to him trying to fool around with Keith at inopportune moments. “Me what?”

“You're telling me _he's_ the one that likes to sneak around?” Lance says, and Shiro looks around like he's not quite sure what part of the conversation he's dropped into. Keith's feeling extremely torn between calling Shiro out or maintaining modicum of privacy and telling everyone to butt out of their business.

“Whatever,” Keith grumbles, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the cushions.

Shiro maintains his innocent golly-gee look and even _laughs_ when Lance concedes that if he could be as sly as Keith he would be, even tells Lance that some people are just naturally talented at it. Lance makes a bunch of sputtering, disgusted sounds and bodily removes himself from where he was slumped beside Keith on the sofa. Hunk shifts over without a word as Lance takes his spot, and while everyone’s temporarily distracted, Keith steals a quick glance at Shiro.

Shiro winks in return, and Keith thinks he might be fighting a losing game.

 

* * *

 

Keith learns quickly that he _is_ fighting a losing game.

 

* * *

 

“Can you not do that in front of us?” Matt says, chin resting on folding hands.

“Do what?” Keith asks, licking up the corner of his lip.

“ _T_ _hat_ ,” Matt wiggles his eyebrows in Keith’s direction. Keith takes another bite out of the peach, and frowns.

“Eat?” He says through a mouthful of the synthetic fruit. It’s a lot sweeter and juicier than a regular peach is, though it’s been so long since Keith’s had one that he might have forgotten what that tastes like. They’re standing in one of the Garrison hangars; Keith’s not quite sure what Matt’s there for, but he’s there because Hunk had pinged everyone on their tablets and told them him and Allura were working on engineered fruit and had a box of peaches to share.

They’re delicious, but they’re a lot runnier than Keith can keep up with. It’s been an uphill battle eating it, but one that’s been so worth it. It tastes more candied and the skin’s a little smoother, and Keith’s on his second because Lance took a bite, turned pale, and discovered something else he’s allergic to. Pidge’s taken him to the infirmary, and Keith’s only glad that he gets more.

Keith swipes at the corner of his mouth, wiping off the juice and makes a face. He can’t help it; he licks some off it off his fingers. He wonders what it’ll take for Hunk and Allura to make another box exclusively for him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to eat messy.”

Matt squints his eyes at him, while Hunk whistles and looks away.

“What?” Keith blinks. Shiro’s silent, having taken only one bite. It’s odd, because these things are starting to get rather addictive for Keith, but Shiro probably just doesn’t have a taste for it. He really wants to ask Shiro for his.

“You have a little-” Shiro gestures with his thumb in a way that encompasses too much of his face for Keith to know what he’s actually talking about. Keith raises his eyebrows, and Shiro reaches forward to rub a fleck of peach off of Keith’s cheek.

“I’m going to go,” Matt announces to the group at large. “I’m not as used to it as you are.”

“Used to what?” Keith blinks after Matt’s retreating back, and Shiro’s still silent. Allura shrugs and tosses a third peach his way with a grin, while Hunk continues whistling his rather long song. He overhears one of the MFEs telling someone the time as they march past, and he remembers that he and Shiro have to lead supervise some fresh cadets in a simulator.

“Hey,” he says to Shiro, and Shiro snaps to attention. Keith tilts his head and starts to move in a gesture that they need to go. Shiro takes a moment, but he starts walking with him as well.

As their friends recede in the distance, Keith hears Allura say something like “I don’t know why he keeps blaming Shiro” and makes a mental note to ask who’s blaming Shiro for what. Then Shiro places a hand on Keith’s lower back, rubbing a small circle as they walk, and it clicks into place for Keith.

“Wait,” he says, stopping them. They’re almost out of the building, and Shiro shoots him a quizzical look. “What do they think we’re doing?”

“Going to teach a class?” Shiro says with a quirk of his eyebrows that belies his statement. Keith glances back at his friends and Allura’s saying something in their general direction while a returned Matt covers his ears and goes red. By the sly look on her face, it’s nothing good.

Keith’s just realized how it looks like, suddenly escaping with Shiro without a word. Especially given the recent downturn of his reputation.

“We _are_ going to go teach a class,” Keith says, and Shiro nods slowly.

“That’s what I said,” he replies, and Keith presses his lips together. He’s really tempted to yell something back at his friends, but he’s not quite sure what he’d say. He doesn’t think telling them he’s not sneaking away for a mid-day tryst is the most intelligent thing to yell across a hangar with other people milling about.

So Keith has to settle for hiding a blush and ignoring how amused Shiro looks as he swivels on his heel and continues to herd them out.

“Golden boy of the Garrison,” he mutters under his breath, and the loud burst of laughter it brings from Shiro echoes around him.

 

* * *

 

 

Later on, Shiro asks Keith if he wants to skip dinner in the mess hall. He’s sequestered some more peaches from Hunk and Allura. Shiro likes them just fine, but likes to lick the taste of the juice out of Keith’s mouth even more. Likes to place pieces in a trail down Keith’s chest, down his abdomen, down down _down_ till Keith’s got a tight hand in Shiro’s hair and his own knuckles in his mouth because he was so excited to see the food that he forgot to close the door fully.

He’s hoping that no one else in their quad’s decided to skip dinner or come looking for them. If they do, if anyone walks in on them, it’ll be Keith they blame anyways because—

 

* * *

 

 

“—it’s just the kind of vibe you give off,” Matt slurs. “Or maybe it’s something to do with how your husband looks.”

Matt looks contemplative at this, and Keith stares blearily at the empty shot glasses in front of him. He tries to count them in hopes of focusing his attention on something other than the two men who each have an arm slung around him. Keith forgot how this topic came about some time around his fourth shot.

They have an early morning tomorrow, but a group of people three towns over drove in with a truck full of liquor and everyone’s celebrating. One of the smaller lounges has been turned into a makeshift bar, and Romelle’s somehow taken excellently to being a barkeep. Even Shiro’s in the corner, nursing a whiskey and talking with a couple of people who had been in the academy with him. He looks young and happy with them, and it makes Keith feel happy.

“Definitely with how his husband looks,” Lance says from his other side. “But also because Keith’s just nasty.”

“I’m not nasty,” Keith defends himself. Or tries to. It comes out as one long _i’mnonazty_ and by the squint-eyes that his drinking buddies by force give him, he hasn’t been talking as clear as he should be. To be fair, Keith’s not had alcohol in a long, _long_ time and has forgotten that he’s not exactly the most graceful drunk.

“I’m not nasty,” he says louder and hopefully more articulate. Maybe too loud, because Matt and Lance both wince away from him. “I’m not.”

“Shut up,” Lance says, waving his hand in Keith’s face. Except he misjudges the direction of his hand and starts slapping Keith instead. “Stop saying you’re not nasty.”

“Stop calling me nasty,” Keith thwacks Lance’s flailing hand away. “I’m not nasty.”

“It’s ok buddy,” Matt pats Keith’s back consolingly. “It’s ok. Let’s take it down a few decibels.”

“Tell Lance I’m not nasty,” Keith says, loud again by the look on their faces.

“Keith’s not nasty,” Matt informs Lance. Keith looks across the room and sees Shiro looking back, cheeks flushed a vibrant red.

Tomorrow morning, this exact scene will replay in Keith’s head as he nurses a hangover in one of the engineering rooms. It’ll finally strike him that Shiro was red due to the fact that his husband was broadcasting across the makeshift bar that he is in fact, not nasty, and Keith will wish for the sky to open up and send a lightning bolt to strike Keith down where he stands.

For now though, Keith crosses his arms over his chest in triumph, glad that they’ve all been loud enough that the air is clear. He’s not quite sure what he’s triumphant over, but the feeling is there.

 

* * *

 

Formal events are somewhat of a rarity but whenever one arises on Garrison grounds, everyone shows out in what they hope is their best. For Keith, it’s a navy blue suit that had sit loose on him till Coran had taken pity on him and had spent the good part of an hour a few days ago, measuring Keith and humming about how he wished Earth fashion was a little more exuberant. The suit fits him a lot better now and Keith’s got his hair tied in a low ponytail with some of Shiro’s cologne splashed on his neck. He thinks he’s passable.

If Keith remembers correctly, the event’s in honour of a slap dash wedding that took place during the war. It’s been a while since then and now that the dust has settled down, the couple wants to celebrate their love and everyone wants a fun party and a reason to dress up. People have been trying to press him and Shiro to do the same and he thinks that they will, but probably as a last minute surprise just to mess with everyone.

The mess hall turned ballroom’s already bustling when he enters; Keith spots Hunk, Lance and Pidge predictably reenacting one of the team’s earlier adventures to a group of fresh-faced cadets. By the way that Pidge has a permanent crease in her brow, Keith’s guessing she’s the one playing him. Keith scans the crowd, but can’t see Shiro anywhere so he goes to join his friends.

“You’re late,” Lance says, slinging an arm around Keith. He tries to shove a plastic goblet of wine in Keith’s face, but Keith pushes it away. “Where’s your old man?”

“He came before me,” Keith says, and sees the look Lance gets on his face. “Do _not._ ”

“I won't, but only because I saw him here earlier,” Lance says, reaching to pull Keith’s ear. And because he knows that Keith’s spent a better part of the late afternoon and early evening at the infirmary with three cadets who hadn’t listened to him or Lance during a training exercise and had injured themselves. Keith had always been on the receiving end of lectures when he was a cadet, so he took the chance he had to deliver one himself with relish. Lance had left early to get ready for the party and Keith had hung back to make sure that the three of them were truly okay after telling Shiro to go ahead without him.

“Did you see where Shiro went?” Keith asks the group at large, and Lance squints his eyes while Hunk reaches over to pat Keith’s shoulder. By the red flush crawling up his neck, Keith can tell Hunk’s already plastered.

“You just got here,” Hunk says too loudly. “Wait a little before you try to sneak off with Shiro.”

Keith rolls his eyes and shakes Hunk’s hand off, trying not to look mildly annoyed at what they’re implying. They wouldn't be wrong fully either. Keith had hit the showers when he was done for the day, and all he had been able to think about was how much he _didn_ 't want to socialize that evening. It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that after a morning exercise in the lions, Shiro had stopped by to say hi in the cockpit of Black. One thing had, like always, led to another, and Keith had found himself riding a large, muscular thigh, chasing friction through the layers of his body suit as Shiro sat in his old pilot's seat and murmured filthy things to Keith.

Keith had been really tempted to sneak out of attending the event in favour of locking him and Shiro in a room for the rest of the night. But midway through the shower, he had remembered that Shiro's already at the party and that if Keith wants to succeed, he has to go in and retrieve him.

So here he is, watching his friends slip into reenacting Keith attempting to slowdance with an Arusian diplomat who took too much of a liking to him. It's actually a good reenactment, their skills honed over years of making fun of Keith. It almost makes him proud to be the butt of their jokes, now that they're no longer obnoxiously terrible a good third of the time.

But he's here to obtain one Takashi Shirogane, so he leaves them with a wave and a sharp insult that has Lance sputtering and the cadets tittering.

Keith moves through the crowd, stopping and saying hello to as many people as possible. He holds short conversations with a few, gets pointed to drinks and the catering by some, and gets a good idea of where Shiro is from casual questions. Being an important man himself, Shiro's been sequestered by some important people and Keith weaves through people in the crowded hall to look for him.

It's a good ten minutes before Keith spots Shiro. And for a second, he thinks his heart and his knees are going to give out. He’s not quite sure where Shiro dug out a black mess dress from or when he lined his medals up on the breast pocket of his suit all neat, but it serves as a stark reminder of how ridiculously good-looking Shiro is. His bangs are slicked back, and Keith’s suddenly feeling extremely underdressed. It takes Shiro less than fifteen seconds to raise his head and spot Keith.

Keith’s hoping that Shiro will have a similar reaction upon seeing Keith in his fitted navy suit, but Shiro is a master of self-restraint. Shiro ineffectually waves a hello to Keith with a white gloved hand, like he's saying hello to a friend. It looks like nothing on the outside, but Keith knows Shiro well enough to take the forced blandness for what it is. He shoots a short salute and decides to make a beeline for the drinks table instead, having spotted one half of the happy couple they're celebrating.

It takes another five minutes of giving his congratulations to one of the women till he feels a ghost of a hand on his lower back.

“Admiral,” Keith says as Shiro slides the hand up between his shoulder blades. He turns to grin up at Shiro and receives a short peck on the lips as a greeting. The tone sounds respectful to everyone but Shiro, who’s told Keith a million times not to call him that, but he smiles anyways.

Shiro doesn’t remove his hand during the entire time they talk with the couple. Keith makes sure to drag the conversation out as long as possible, and the other two women are more than happy to comply. The circle Shiro’s idly rubbing against his back grows more insistent with each passing minute, and Keith happily keeps ignoring it in favour of chatting. Keith’s acutely aware of the heat Shiro’s radiating, but he’s determined to keep Shiro waiting.

Eventually, the couple get pulled away to talk with others. Shiro rounds on Keith, his formal smile slipping into something more private. His hand slides down to Keith's side, resting on his hip. It looks innocent but Keith can feel the intent in the way Shiro squeezes.

“Enjoying yourself?” Shiro asks, quirking an eyebrow. Keith's only had a glass of water but he's feeling bold and focused so he leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Shiro's mouth. Shiro half returns it, looking more amused than anything.

“A little,” Keith replies, crooking up a corner of his mouth. “What?”

Shiro's looking at him with an all too familiar look. It's low and burning and reaches Keith till the tip of his toes. It's a look he'll never get over.

“I've been here for a while,” Shiro says evenly, letting go of Keith's hip. “I think I'm going to step out for some fresh air.”

It’s clear what Shiro wants. And it does things to Keith to know that Shiro wants _him_ , that Shiro with his hair slicked and his black suit stretching over broad shoulders looking like he’s walked off a magazine cover, wants Keith, who looks like he got lucky at the tuxedo rental company.

But there’s still one thing.

“You should,” Keith smiles sweetly up at his husband. “It’s really crowded here. I’ll go say hi to the others, just let me know when you’re back.”

Shiro’s expression falters for a moment, and Keith makes to move but a hand on his side stops him. The thumb of Shiro’s prosthetic sticks itself through one of the belt loops of Keith’s pants and tugs him closer while Shiro looks around them to make sure no one’s watching.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a walk with me?” Shiro asks, low and almost too quiet for Keith to hear if he wasn’t intensely honed in on him already. Shiro must be feeling especially bold, because he leans in to kiss Keith proper. Keith tilts back, just out of reach, and Shiro looks surprised. He looks like he’s about to apologize so Keith cuts him off before he can speak.

“And have everyone think I’m the one dragging you away?” Keith says with just enough playfulness that Shiro’s face relaxes. “I’m getting a reputation, you know.”

“I know,” Shiro replies, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s kind of funny.”

Keith rolls his eyes, because he knows that Shiro knows. He knows that Shiro gets a lot of enjoyment out of it, gets a kick out of maintaining his innocent, aw-shucks persona. “Of course it is. You’re not the one suffering.”

“I could try to fix it,” Shiro offers, humming contemplatively. “If we run into anyone on the way out, I’ll tell them we’re leaving because I’m the one that hasn’t been able to stop thinking about how hot you look tonight and how badly I want to put you on your knees and-”

Keith clamps a hand over Shiro’s mouth, acutely aware of how many people are within hearing range. He feels his ears go pink, and wills the heat to stay at bay and not make him turn red in the crowd. Shiro looks infinitely amused, his eyes crinkling.

He had a plan, a plan that involved a lot of teasing and vague eyebrow gestures that would eventually take them back to their quarters. Keith can’t quite remember what that plan is, not in the face of his waiting and wanting husband. He's not sure why he thought he could not be simple for a night— Shiro easily sneaks them around _because_  Keith's so responsive and eager. Keith _likes_ being wanted so urgently, so badly that Shiro can't even wait for them to get somewhere decent before he goes at him. Keith can feel Shiro smile under his palm, and tentatively drops his hand.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks innocently, and Keith knows he can’t hide hide the way his face has started to flush.

“I need some air,” he says faintly, and the gleam in Shiro’s eyes turns wicked.

 

* * *

 

Predictably, they don’t make it to their quarters. Keith’s pretty sure they’re not even in the vague direction of their living area, because Shiro’s hands are on him as soon as they leave the party. As soon as they turn a corner into an empty hall, Shiro’s mouth is on him as well, pinning him against the wall and kissing him fervently. Shiro wants him right then and there, whispers a slew of things that has Keith’s knees going weak fast, but Keith has some decency to start tugging them towards the first empty room they can find.

It turns out to be some sort of coat-room type closet, stored with dusty uniforms. Keith yearns for the last time they had snuck into somewhere with space, but he doesn’t mind how closely pressed he’ll be against Shiro. Shiro closes the door behind him with purpose, and Keith’s barely pulled the chain for the light and pivoted on his heel before he finds himself on the receiving end of a hungry kiss. It does things to Keith when he feels Shiro’s teeth in a kiss that Shiro leads with a precise type of biting roughness.

Shiro doesn’t take any time to gently run his hands over the fabric of Keith’s suit; he’s already grabbing a handful of Keith’s ass with one hand while the fingers of the other weave through Keith’s hair. There’s no doubt as to how much Shiro wants him, so fierce that he can’t even breathe. The kiss ignites the flame burning in Keith even further till the heat is scorching.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, pulling back for air. “Holy shit.”

Under the dim yellow light, Shiro gives Keith a look that sears through him. His gloved hand comes up to wrap around the nape of Keith’s neck and a large thumb pushes the junction where it meets his jaw. Keith tilts his head back obediently, baring his neck for Shiro to lay wet and biting kisses across. Shiro inhales sharply once he makes it to the crook of his neck.

“You smell like me,” Shiro rumbles against his skin.

“Yeah, well,” Keith starts, but Shiro moves his lips up and starts worrying a mark a little too high up on his neck. “Hey, people are gonna see that.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Shiro asks so lowly that it’s a miracle Keith doesn’t fold right there. “For people to know I’m the one who’s like this?”

Keith feels his face heat up, and instead of replying he wraps an arm around Shiro’s shoulders and pulls him closer. Shiro makes a satisfied noise and presses a thigh in between Keith’s legs. His prosthetic drifts behind Keith and pushes on the small of his back, making him ride up on Shiro, shooting hot sparks through Keith.

“What do you want?” Shiro asks, sweeping Keith up into a kiss again. It’s all tongue and teeth and Keith moans into it, rocking on the balls of his feet to grind against Shiro’s thigh. It’s an echo of this morning, and a wandering hand tells Keith Shiro’s just as eager and ready as he is.

It’s tempting to get off fully like this. Keith pops open the button of Shiro’s trousers and digs his hand in, kneading and palming and feeling Shiro heavy in his hand. He squeezes and Shiro bites down on his lower lip hard enough that Keith can taste iron. It’s what Keith needs to know that this won’t be enough, so he removes his hand to grab Shiro’s.

He pulls off the white glove with his teeth and holds onto it as he guides Shiro’s hand, slipping it past the elastic of Keith's boxers. Shiro hums as Keith slides his thick fingers right where he wants them, and shoots Keith another wry look.

“Is this why you took so long?” Shiro asks and Keith would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting a look of surprise. But seeing Shiro look at him like this, like being ready and slightly loose for Shiro is what he had expected out of Keith, is just as good. Shiro looking smug and possessive is a lethal combination that never fails to melt Keith’s brain.

Keith gives a nod, and drops the glove from his mouth into one of his hands before tucking it into one of Shiro’s pockets. He digs in the inside of his jacket, looks down because if he tries to return Shiro’s gaze for too long he’s sure he’s going to combust. Keith finds what he's looking for, and when he presses it into Shiro's hand, Shiro stares at it.

“You came really prepared, huh?” Shiro says, staring at the bottle of lube. “And you wanted me to take the blame for it if anyone caught us?”

“Yes,” Keith replies briskly.

Shiro looks at him for a moment, grins, and then they're off again. There’s not a lot of room for romance once they both know what they want, and both know that they don’t have a lot of time to get it. Shiro pushes off Keith’s suit jacket, and moves to unbutton his own. Keith stops him, fingers wrapping firmly around his wrist. The corner of Shiro’s mouth quirks up, and he crowds Keith again.

“You look so good tonight,” Shiro says, popping open the first few buttons of Keith’s shirt so that he can slide his hand through. He runs a thumb over where Keith’s sensitive and Keith’s trying hard not to make any noise as Shiro pinches and rolls and then spans a good amount of Keith’s pectoral with his hand. “I like you in a suit.”

“You too,” Keith half-moans and tries to pull Shiro into a kiss. The brush of Shiro's jacket against where Keith's chest is exposed feels just as good as Keith had thought. Shiro laughs and Keith makes a noise of frustration. He tries to get Shiro to hurry up by grabbing the hand that’s got the lube and forcing it up between them so he can take the bottle and pop the lid.

“Impatient,” Shiro observes, and Keith shakes his head. His heart’s pounding loudly against his ribcage as the thrill of what they’re doing starts to set in. Shiro daintily plucks the bottle out of Keith’s hand and turns Keith around.

“Your pants,” the command comes light and easy, and Keith’s hurrying to kick off his boxers and his close-fitting pants. One of the legs get stuck around his ankle and he leaves it, too eager to get Shiro on him and in him in an extremely ill-advised location.

Keith reaches in front of him to brace himself against one of the shelves. Shiro drums his fingers slowly down the length of Keith’s spine, tapping gently over the cloth. He pushes the shirt up and repeats the action over warm skin, and Keith squirms, wanting a lot more.

“Shiro—” Keith says, but his voice drops into a low groan as a slicked cold finger presses in.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, sounding completely unaffected.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Keith grits out, trying to rock back. He spent a _lot_ of time with himself in the shower, and he’s impatient to get more of Shiro in him. Shiro can tell too by the way his body easily gives, and gracefully adds in another finger.

“We have all the time,” Shiro counters, slowly working Keith open. Keith appreciates the care that Shiro takes, no matter how rushed they are, no matter how impatient Keith feels. Shiro likes him loose and pliant and messy, and the moment stretches out endlessly for them. Time slows down to molasses around them and all Keith can focus on is how good Shiro fills him up. He feels his stomach contract and curl at the third finger, moreso when it crooks and searches. Keith’s knees threaten to buckle and give out.

“Wouldn’t want to get into trouble, Admiral,” Keith teases breathlessly, and Shiro lets out an amused huff.

“That’s not your decision, cadet,” Shiro replies in a mocking tone that has Keith’s toes curling. Just as Shiro slides his fingers out, there’s voices on the other side of the door.

The two of them go silent, and Keith shoots the door a worried look over his shoulder. The voices grow louder, approaching the door.

“Relax,” Shiro leans forward to whisper into Keith’s ear. “They’re not going to come in.”

Keith hears the two officers chat as they approach the door. He can see the shadows of their feet through the gap between the door and the floor, and his knuckles go white against the shelves they’re holding on. The doorknob doesn’t rattle, and neither of the officers talking sound like they’ve heard anything but Keith’s still extremely concerned and their voices are dangerously close and—

Keith bites down on his lower lip _hard_ , quieting the sound that threatens to escape him once Shiro starts to push into him. He’s hard and heavy and slick and Keith was so busy focusing on the people on the other side that he didn’t even hear Shiro slick up. Shiro nudges Keith’s ankles, spreading his legs further.

This part always gets Keith, will always get Keith no matter how many times they have each other, no matter how well they know each other’s bodies. Shiro pressing in when there are people on the other side of the door, unaware of what’s going on, sends a rush of adrenaline so large through Keith that it concerns him. He’s never been this close this early, but he’s started to drip and he’s hurting with how much he wants.

“ _Oh_ ,” the sound escapes Keith before he can control himself. Instantly, Shiro’s cupping his jaw and tilting Keith’s head to the side to give him a wet kiss and muffle his sounds. The people outside keep talking like they’ve heard nothing, and Shiro rocks forward, bottoming out.

“Good?” Shiro whispers so quietly and Keith nods. “Think you can stay quiet for me, baby?”

He punctuates the question with a short roll of his hips, and catches Keith’s mouth with his own before Keith can get noticeably vocal again.

“Want me to make you quiet?” Shiro asks and Keith nods frantically. Shiro presses kisses to the nape of Keith’s neck while he digs around his pocket. Keith hangs his head forward, staring at the floor as he tries to regain as much of his composure as he can in the given situation.

The people have stopped talking, but Keith’s yet to hear the footsteps of them walking away. He closes his eyes and tries to count backwards from ten, and feels fabric press against the seam of his mouth.

Keith’s eyes shoot open as he sees Shiro’s hand in his line of sight, pressing in the white glove Shiro had been wearing earlier. Keith pauses, but opens his mouth wider so that Shiro can shove the entire glove in. He feels spit trickle out, but bites down on the fabric. He taps his index finger lightly against the shelf, and Shiro takes it as a sign to go on.

He rolls his hips slowly, grinding as the people outside start talking again. Keith’s half torn between wanting the moment to stretch on and wanting to come fast so that they can get the hell out of dodge and into the privacy of their bedroom. Shiro keeps his thrusts short and and close but it’s still enough to send heat coursing through Keith’s body. Regardless of how many times they touch and take each other, Shiro always feels like an oasis to Keith. Keith closes his eyes and almost forgets that they run a deep risk of getting caught.

Keith doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears footsteps recede in the distance. The voices drift away with them and for all his cockiness, Shiro lets out a “oh thank _god_ ” before he withdraws out of Keith halfway. Keith’s about to spit out the glove and make a snarky comment but Shiro slams back in hard enough to send him flat against the shelf, rattling the wood. Keith lets out a sound that gets muffled through the glove and Shiro starts to fuck into him in earnest.

He sets a depraved pace that has tears forming in the corners of Keith’s eyes as he makes keening noises through the glove gagging him. Shiro’s relentless in the way he drives into Keith, and starts whispering filthy things into Keith’s ear about taking him in front of others just to stake a claim.

“I have no problem telling people how much I want you,” Shiro says with a particularly hard thrust that shifts Keith onto the balls of his feet. “I don’t care if anyone comes in. I’ll tell them I did this. They need to know you’re mine.”

Keith can’t do anything but nod along and take what Shiro gives him as his entire body trembles. The thrill of being caught, the slick pleasure and roughness has Keith tipping close fast. His breathing stutters and he feels metal fingers close in around his hip.

They dig in, grip bruising him and pinning him where Shiro wants him as Shiro snakes his other hand around to the front to get Keith off. Shiro snaps his hips into Keith and it only takes a few seconds of him pulling at Keith for Keith to come, heat ripping through him like a jet as he spills all over Shiro’s hand. Shiro continues riding him through it, continues moving in him till he’s coming inside Keith, Keith’s name on his lips as he makes a mess in him.

The closet’s only filled with the sound of their heavy breathing for a minute. Keith thinks his entire body’s going to give out with how weak it’s gone and he can still see stars dancing in front of his eyes. Shiro skims a hand up Keith’s back, stroking him soothingly till Keith’s breathing has gone quieter. Shiro reaches forward and pulls the glove out of Keith’s mouth, and Keith takes in a deep gulp of air.

Shiro’s hand slides around to Keith’s chest and holds him there as he slips out of Keith. It feels weird being empty, and his legs involuntarily tremble, but the blissed out feeling dulls it. Shiro pulls Keith back against him and Keith turns his head automatically to accept the soft and chaste kiss Shiro presses forward. Shiro turns Keith around slowly so that they can kiss proper and Keith enjoys it for a moment, swims in the warm and sweet feeling that comes with holding onto his husband.

In his current state, Keith can’t imagine going back to the party. They’ve made a mess everywhere, and even though Shiro makes a valiant effort in using his spit-soaked glove to clean up, it’s not enough. They’re interrupted by Keith’s stomach grumbling between them, and Shiro draws back, amused.

“Food?” he asks, and Keith nods.

“I haven’t eaten since noon,” he answers, and Shiro frowns. “Didn’t have time.”

“We should go back to the party and get food,” Shiro says, bending down to pick up Keith’s jacket. “I think there’s still some left.”

The jacket has a large footprint on it, and Keith’s curious as to what kind of disheveled state Shiro’s willing to be seen in. Shiro looks wrecked as well, strands of his carefully slicked hair falling around his face. His collar’s skewed and he’s got a pink flush across his face that Keith knows will sit for a minute.

“Like this?” Keith asks almost incredulously, though given Shiro’s track record, he’s not quite sure why he’s surprised.

“Yeah,” Shiro shrugs, before leaning in to give Keith an innocent peck on the cheek. “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

“You guys left early yesterday,” Lance says slyly from where he’s sitting beside Keith in the mess hall for breakfast. There’s still confetti and balloons strewn everywhere and everyone within a twenty foot radius of Keith has a hangover, except for him and Shiro.

“You stayed late,” Keith counters unnecessarily loud, just so that he can watch Lance wince.

“Keith was hungry,” Shiro supplies from across the table. “And they had run out of food, so we went back to our place.”

They had, after their tryst in the closet. When they had stepped into the better lit hallway, Keith had taken one look at the two of them and decided they were not fit for public consumption.

Shiro had made Keith a nice sandwich from leftovers while Keith washed up again, and Keith had passed out shortly after. Lance squints his eyes at them like he doesn’t quite believe them. Beside Shiro, Matt’s slumped forward, head in folded arms, having given up all pretenses of being able to deal with his hangover.

“You sure?” Lance says. “Because I think I might have seen you guys headed in the opposite direction.”

Matt groans something about not wanting to be part of this conversation, but Lance is and always has been a shit-stirrer. It’s so ingrained in him that Keith gets worried when Lance lets things slide.

“Did you?” Shiro asks lightly, and Lance nods. “You’re not wrong.”

“Ha,” Lance says with all the energy of someone who drank a bottle and half of wine the night before. “Knew it. Keith’s got no self control.”

“Hey,” Keith says to Lance and leans in. “I gotta tell you something.”

Lance hums and tips forward. Keith cups the side of Lance’s face, getting as close to his ear as possible.

“Shut up,” Keith barks loudly and Lance yelps, jumping a mile in his seat and lashing out his hands. Keith ducks just in time.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Lance grumbles, rubbing at his ear.

“To be fair,” Shiro says, forking soft scrambled eggs into his mouth. “I was the one that dragged us that way. We made too much of a mess to head back to the party so we had to go back home.”

Keith’s brain comes to a screeching halt at the words. _That_ was unexpected. Lance drops his spoon into his oatmeal, and Matt lets out the most long-suffering groan Keith’s had to hear in his life.

“You what?” Lance sputters indignantly, and Shiro shrugs. He shoots Keith a quick look that said _you wanted this_ before levelling Lance with a bemused one.

“Don’t go into the uniform closet of Hall B in the third wing,” Shiro says with a voice that’s cryptic, even if his words are decidedly not. “I don’t know how often they clean in there, but it might not be enough for you.”

“Ew,” Lance says pointedly. “Ew. God. I’ve got to go sit somewhere else.”

“Take me with you,” Matt says, voice still muffled against the table. Lance picks up his tray and somehow it’s still Keith that’s on the receiving end of a dirty look. Keith thinks that no one’s ever going to poke fun at Shiro for this like they do at Keith because Shiro’s long established an insurmountable amount of respect.

It should irritate Keith; he knows he’s in for it with his friends once Lance decides to babble to the rest of the paladins, whether they actually want to hear about it or not. But he shifts in his seat and feels a familiar ache that sends sparks up his spine.

Keith sneaks a glance at Shiro and sees Shiro looking back at him with an entertained expression. Shiro winks at him and Keith pointedly looks away but he can’t hide his smile. He feels Shiro knock his feet gently against Keith’s ankles but Shiro’s gone back to telling Matt he should at least try to drink some juice.

Everyone thinking that Shiro’s just an innocent accomplice might be chipping away at Keith’s reputation, but it’s by and far worth it. Even if Keith’s the only one that accepts the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was extremely self-indulgent and born out of the need to see Shiro be the one that's horny on main for Keith all the time. I'm VALID ok  
> come challenge me to a duel on [tumblr](http://phaltu.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tagteamme)!!


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